


Kitten Rescue Club

by Hard_boiled_candy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Kittens with FIV, M/M, Modern AU, No Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22285345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hard_boiled_candy/pseuds/Hard_boiled_candy
Summary: Dean Winchester doesn't even like cats, but that doesn't mean he's not going to sit in his car and cry when the vet advises him to euthanize the kittens he rescued. Along comes a concerned stranger and more than his feline troubles find their solution.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 95





	Kitten Rescue Club

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case things didn't go so well for us tonight, some AU Destiel Fluff.

He didn’t even like cats. He sat in the car after he left the vet clinic and sobbed; two days of worry and misery were now over, but he felt like he’d gone five rounds with Mike Tyson.

There was a bang on his window. He turned, cursing under his breath, and his face made the man look startled and wary. He rolled down the window.

“I’m very sorry,” the man said. He had a kind face, with big blue eyes. “You seem upset and I didn’t want you to think no one cares. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Dean said, his voice catching. “I won’t drive until I’ve calmed down, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Men don’t do a very good job of looking after each other,” the man said. “I thought I’d make the effort.”

“Do you have ten minutes to hear my sad story?” Dean asked, sarcastically, but also seriously.

He looked at his watch and said, “Absolutely. May I sit down?” Dean cracked open the passenger door. When the man sat down, Dean got a scent of faint cologne and even fainter laundry soap. He smelled yummy, as his sister-in-law would have described it. He forced himself to look away, and concentrate.

“Two days ago,” Dean said, “I was driving down Fourth Street and I ran over a stray cat.”

“Oh, my goodness,” the man said.

“I took the cat to the clinic and they had to put her down because she was a mess. But they said she was a nursing mom, so I should try to find the kittens.”

“Go on,” the man said. Dean looked up; he was listening with rapt attention.

“So me and my younger brother Adam took a morning off work and we looked for the kittens. And we found them, and we took them into the vet, and they all have something called FIV and the vet recommended that they be put down too.”

“That’s all very bad news,” the man said, “But if you can find a home for the kittens for six months and get them retested, they might actually be fine. The test shows they’ve got antibodies, not that they are necessarily sick.”

“What? The vet didn’t say that!” Dean was a little choked.

The man continued calmly. “Most cats with FIV that have loving homes live as long as usual, but they have to be kept indoors so they don’t infect other cats.”

“And who will do that for me? He told me that no one will want these kittens if they’re sick.”

“How many kittens?”

“Three. Two black and white and one orange tabby.” Dean sighed. “I don’t even like cats - I’m allergic - but they are cute, I’ll give them that.”

“Do they still need formula?”

“No, the doc said that they could start eating softened kitten kibble. But it doesn’t matter, they’re scheduled to be euthanized later today.”

“Are you okay with that?” the man asked.

Dean coughed. “No, I am not okay.”

“If I can find alternate arrangements for the kittens, would you want to do that?”

Dean was suspicious. “Like what kind of alternate arrangements? Some people use kittens in dog-fighting!”

The man permitted himself a smile. “Your advocacy of helpless animals that you don’t even like does you credit,” he said. But he didn’t sound like an asshole, saying it, he sounded sincere, so Dean calmed down as he added, “I’m talking about a proper foster home.”

He made a phone call, as Dean watched. He had strong, shapely hands. Now that Dean had gotten a grip on himself, he realized that whoever this guy was, he was a stone fox. “Hey Meg,” he said. There was a little burst of chatter at the other end. “So… what’s the foster kitten situation at the moment?”

Another burst of chatter.

“But they’ve all been rehomed?”

“Feel like some FIV orphans? It’s possible they’ve been misdiagnosed….” 

Another burst of chatter.

“Well, tonight, if you’re okay with it. I –” and here the man paused, as Meg spoke.

“No, those conditions will be fine. There are three of them, and they are -”

“Seven weeks old,” Dean supplied.

The man started writing things down on a small leather-bound pad. He frowned, thanked her, and hung up.

Dean waited.

“Meg will take them, but you may not like the conditions.”

“Money, of course,” Dean said.

“It’s not bad, she wants $200 up front, a bag of her preferred brand of kitten kibble and a bag of her preferred brand of cat litter. She also wants naming rights and wonders if you have any carpentry skills.”

“What?”

“She has an enormous enclosed cat habitat attached to the back of the house but the raccoons tore off one end of it and she hasn’t had a chance to fix it.”

“Oh, that shouldn’t be too hard,” Dean said.

“Mind if I tag along? It would probably be easier with two people.”

“Shit no,” Dean said. Things got awkward for about two seconds as they held each other’s gaze. Dean looked away and said, abruptly, “Gimme your phone number.”

They swapped phones and put in their names and numbers.

“Dean,” the man said thoughtfully.

“Cas,” Dean said. He had no idea how to pronounce Castiel and thought the guy was having him on.

“Castiel,” the man said.

“Mmm, I’m gonna go with Cas.”

“I regret,” Cas said, after a little frown indicating that he was not 100% cool with his new nickname, “That my ten minutes are up and I am obliged to go to my next meeting.”

“What do you do?” Dean asked, genuinely curious.

“I’m a landscape architect specializing in xericulture and habitat restoration,” Cas said. He put his hand out, and Dean shook it, while trying to look like he didn’t feel like little zaps of electricity were climbing up his arm. 

“Bye, Cas,” Dean said. He took the cat carrier he’d borrowed from Adam out of the car and marched back into the vet clinic and reclaimed the kittens, while the veterinary technician argued with him.

“They’re going to a kitten rescue,” he said, and, sneezing, put the kittens in the carrier as they mewed piteously..

Sneezing (catastrophically, he thought) every five minutes, he drove them to his brother Sam’s place and left them with Ruby, his wife, promising faithfully to collect them after he finished his shift at the garage. Adam had messaged him about ten times asking about the kittens.

Around five thirty, Cas called with Meg’s coordinates, and Dean grabbed the kittens - again - and met Cas in front of Meg’s duplex. Cas had purchased the bags of food and litter, which was a relief; Dean had the money Meg had asked for.

He and Cas got working on the cat enclosure, and after an hour and a half they got it done. Cas was a pleasure to work with, and the bastard continued to smell nicer than anyone Dean had ever met, which was alternately sickly humorous and terrifying.

More than anything, he wanted to continue hanging around with Cas, but he couldn’t for the life of him think what to say that wouldn’t sound like he was desperately lonely and needy, so he got quieter and quieter and quieter, until finally Cas said, as they plopped down on the back steps, a little sweaty, “Are you okay? You seem subdued.”

“Wanna grab a beer someplace?” Dean asked casually.

Cas was silent. He drew a breath to reply, and Dean spoke over top of him. “It’s okay, you probably have somebody waiting on you.”

“Don’t you?” Cas asked, on eyebrow raised.

“No,” Dean said. “I live alone since my brothers got married.”

“Oh,” Cas said. He fidgeted. “I, too, live alone.”

“Get outta town,” Dean said.

“We broke up seven months ago,” Cas said.

“Eighteen months ago for me,” Dean said.

“I just worked with you for an hour and a half and I have a hard time understanding why someone would want to break up with you.”

“That’s very flattering, but I’m just as much of an asshole as the next guy, present company excepted of course, and she uh, decided, uh, that I wasn’t a good person for her seven year old son to be around.” Dean closed his mouth and realized he sounded like a child molester, instead of a guy who’d been honest with his girlfriend about his very adult-oriented sexuality.

“Oh,” Cas said again, and this time his voice was very soft. He took a breath and said, “If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to head home. It was very nice meeting you.” He stood and put out his hand again.

“Don’t I at least get a hug, I helped you rescue some kittens,” Dean said resentfully. Obviously Cas had decided he  _ was _ a child molester, which he most emphatically was not. He should have kept his mouth shut.

Drily, Cas said, “If you insist,” and swooped in for a brief hug, which Dean clung to for a good five seconds longer than he should have.

“Well, see you ‘round.”

Meg inspected their work. “Dean left?”

“He asked me to go for a beer but I declined.”

“Clarence, you are entirely crazy, you know that?” Meg said in her smooth, sardonic voice. “Three days ago you’re on the phone to me saying you’re o! so lonely since The Ex Who Ne’er Shall Be Named flew back to England, stiffing you with the apartment, and the car lease, which I warned you about, and now a civilized and disgustingly cute guy wants to buy you a beer and you bail?”

“He said something that made me think he was a child abuser.”

“Dean?” Meg said. “Is he Sam Winchester’s brother? His brother Sam would gut him if he hurt a child. I know his wife from the hospital. I think you got the story wrong.”

“He said that his girlfriend didn’t want him to be around her son.”

“But not  **why…** lemme check into it for you. You’re not connected to the town gossip the way I am. I’ll get to the bottom of this.” And with that Meg picked up her phone and started digging.

Cas went home, troubled that he might have gotten it wrong.

Two hours later, the phone rang. Meg was cackling. 

“What,” Cas said with resignation.

“Dean’s bisexual,” Meg crowed. “He outed himself to Cassie and she asked him to leave shortly after. She told her girlfriends that Dean was wonderful but she couldn’t risk it.”

“Wow,” Cas said. “He must have been devastated.”

“Well, yeah. He told her before he told his brother, and when he learned of it via the ol’ town gossip mill instead of through Dean that he was bi and suddenly single he apparently tore Dean a new one. All hearsay of course.”

“So is he out or isn’t he?”

“Are you?” Meg said pointedly.

“I don’t talk about it if I don’t have to. I have a hard time with some of the, er, cultural stuff. You know I was raised evangelical.”

There was a pause. Meg suddenly put two and two together. “How did you meet Dean? Were you at the vet’s office?”

“I’d prefer not to say.”

“What?” Meg sounded more than usually disbelieving.

“I feel very embarrassed to be poking around in his private business.”

Meg had no such compunctions. “If it gets you a date with the newly minted bisexual Dean Winchester, hell, yeah, you should be all up, over and in his business.”

“I’m not sharing that with you…. Not until I’ve apologized to him.”

Meg’s throaty purr made him roll his eyes, but he was smiling too, as she said, “Oh, I’m going to have to hear all about that.”

Castiel stewed for a couple of minutes and then called Dean. He sounded happy to hear from him.

“I should have accepted that beer,” Cas said.

“Why?”

Cas tried to be tactful. “Because you’re very pleasant company.”

Dean made a rude noise. “I don’t think so.”

“Yes, you are. And you sniffed me.”

Dean was taken aback, but he also began to get an idea where this conversation was heading. “Busted, but in my defence, you smell awesome. You want to have a beer with me because I think you smell awesome?”

“Friendships have been founded upon less,” Castiel said. “And we’ll always have the Kitten Rescue Club.”

“Cas,‘I think this sounds like the beginning of a beautiful friendship,’” Dean quoted.

“Casablanca.”

“You know it? I’ve memorized so much of the dialogue –”

It was midnight before they got off the phone.

  
  
  
  


They were having sex in a week, out and about dating in three weeks, living together in four months and married in two years. At the wedding, Best Buddy Meg told the uproarious reception that if you found a man who rescued kittens, even though he was allergic to them, you should probably marry him. 

Cas kissed his husband soundly and whispered, “You’re lucky I found you,” and Dean’s eyes became even more luminous than usual. He whispered back, “I know.”


End file.
